Nervous
by semi-unusual-bystander
Summary: Isaac honestly had no idea what to make of this Allison. Really, it'd be much easier to deal with if she was trying to kill him. Who wasn't, these days?
1. Nervous

"Look at your life, look at your choices," Isaac muttered to himself as he pawed through the supplies and slotted them into place. He forced himself not to look behind and check the door again, despite the uncomfortable itch beneath his skin.

Allison laughed, barely more than a brief huff of air. "I think we could all do a little more of that."

Isaac paused. Now that she wasn't hell bent on murdering everyone, he wasn't really quite sure where he stood with her and the uncertainty more than anything else was starting to unsettle him slightly. Really, it'd be much easier to deal with if she _was _trying to kill him. Who wasn't, these days?

"Some of us more than others," he said eventually, keeping his voice even. If she wanted them to braid each other's hair and talk about their feelings then she could work for it. That whole stabbed-repeatedly-with-knives thing was still a bit of a sore point.

"Yeah, some of us have a little more work to do on that front," she agreed. "Namely me."

Isaac couldn't help it. He laughed. "Stop agreeing with me. It's making me nervous."

Allison paused in her task, and tilted her head to face him. "I make you nervous?" she questioned, a mischievous twist to her smile.

Isaac raised his eyebrows. "Frankly? I'm half-convinced you've got a sword hidden up your top. So yeah. Little bit."

Her heartbeat skipped ever so slightly as she slid her box onto the shelf and took a step towards him. "How can I convince you I don't have a sword in my top, Isaac?" she murmured. "Maybe I should take it off."

Isaac's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline.

"Could you help me take my top off, Isaac?" she said, her eyes glittering. Without waiting for a reply, her fingers found the hem and started to pull upwards. Almost despite himself, Isaac reached out and tugged the thin fabric up, unconsciously stepping closer as he lifted it gently over her head (he didn't throw it to the floor, he folded it neatly and set it on the shelf, but he liked to think she'd appreciate not having to brush it off).

"Am I still making you nervous?"

Isaac could feel her breath mixing with his in the scant inches of space between them. "You always make me nervous."

She moved closer still, her next breath curling like smoke across his jaw. "How can I stop that, Isaac? Tell me how to stop making you nervous."

Isaac leaned in, almost towering over her, and for a brief second caught a flash of triumph in those glittering eyes. He dipped his head next to hers. Allison immediately turned into the touch, pressing her cheek lightly against his, an almost imperceptible shiver trickling down her spine. For a moment, he let the tension pull taut.

"I know," He moved closer still, his lips almost touching the skin where her jaw hinged. The bitter musk of arousal crept into the air. "You could finish shelving those towels," he murmured, his teeth grazing against her earlobe, and he pressed a closed-lipped and butterfly-light kiss against the sharp edge of her jaw before he drew back.

Allison startled at the sudden loss of heat. He could feel her gaze burn against his face as he returned to his task, deftly sorting stock as if nothing had happened.

She reached for her top, but he caught her wrist. "You could always leave it off," he said, smirking. "You know, so I don't get nervous."

Her eyes narrowed, before they sparked again. "What if you make me nervous too?"

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"You're bigger than me, stronger than me, you've got claws and fangs… that's enough to make any girl nervous."

"Well, Allison, why don't you tell me how I can stop making you feel nervous," Isaac mimicked, amused.

"Tell you? I'm going to show you." Her hands reached up and pushed his cardigan off his shoulders, ridding him of it easily. With exaggerated movements, she folded it up and placed it on top of her t-shirt before turning her attention to his t-shirt. He lifted his arms over his head, allowing himself a moment of smugness when her pulse skipped again, harder this time.

Isaac cocked his head to the side, watching as she folded his shirt as well. "Feeling more relaxed now?"

"Much," she smiled, showing a gleam of teeth. "Now put that stupid box down and put your hands to better use."

**A/N This is what my sleep deprived mind comes up with at 1 AM. I have no idea what it even is, but personally I ship these two because I ship Isaac with everyone.**


	2. No Church in the Wild

For some reason, Isaac couldn't shake the feeling that Allison was winning.

As to what, he had no idea. When it had even become a competition was a mystery too, but there had been something triumphant in Allison's bearing ever since the whole 'let's-undress-each-other-in-a-closet' situation last week, and the feeling of coming off worse had lodged itself under his skin.

Isaac was used to coming off worse. With Camden, with his father, with Derek – even after the bite, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was the weakest link, always being measured and falling short, being judged and found wanting. Isaac always lost, and was tired of it.

For once, Isaac was going to _win._

Which was easier said than done, but fortunately for Isaac an opportunity arose without him having to manufacture one, because that probably would have resulted in disaster anyway. But that was whatever. His lack of diabolical planning skills aside, being paired with her in orienteering was pretty much the best thing that could have happened.

Well. It was a start.

"Is that number nine, do you think?"

Isaac lolled his head around to look at Allison, ignoring the post she was pointing at. "You have the map, do you not?"

Allison smiled. "So you _are_ still capable of speech. I was starting to wonder."

"Yes, I am still perfectly capable of using my mouth to make words," he drawled, before flashing her a wicked grin. "I just think there are much better things I could be doing with it."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like, maybe... eating or something."

"Eating or something," Allison repeated. She bent over to stamp their card at the post, but when she turned around Isaac was pointedly examining his fingernails and not her ass. "You can't think of anything else?"

Isaac cocked his head to the side innocently. "Is there anything else I should have thought of?"

Allison shrugged. "Come to think of it, I don't think there's actually much else your mouth is good for."

"Oh really?" he failed to keep the amusement out of his voice as they set off for the next post. "Surely it must be good for something."

She stopped for a moment, and gave him a long, considering look. "Nope," she said eventually, smirking. "Nothing at all."

Before she could move away, Isaac reached and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer. "You sure about that?" he said, ghosting his breath across her jaw.

Isaac had expected a reaction – girls like Allison didn't appreciate being pushed around – and she sure as hell didn't disappoint. The next moment found him backed against a tree, her forearm pressed firmly up under his chin. "Absolutely," she replied, a hint of steel in her gaze.

That bitter tang crept into the air.

_Seriously? _This_ is turning her on? _"When's the last time you even had sex, Allison?" he asked, incredulous.

"_What?" _She slammed him back, her fingers fisting in his shirt and skin, and he let her.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?" he pressed, delighting in the weak spot he had found. "Because you and Scott broke up a while back now, and you don't strike me as the type to sleep around. That's a pretty big dry patch, huh?"

"Shut _up_," she snarled, angry now, as she surged forward again. He grabbed her arms and tugged her around, reversing their positions with insulting ease.

"When's the last time you fucked all night?" he whispered, tilting his face so their breathing could tangle in the non-space between them. She strained against him furiously, but he didn't falter. "When's the last time you came so hard and so long you forgot where you are?" He searched her face, picked out the falter behind the defiance. "That never happened with him, did it?"

Allison's grip tightened painfully, her outrage warring with the bitter attraction and the press of his body against hers. The tension in her body changed track. "He was gentle and soft and _cosy,_ I bet," he went on, meeting her burning gaze with his own. "Whereas you and me, we'd be anything but cosy."

Her pupils practically eclipsed her eyes, wide and dark. "What would we be, Isaac?" she bit out.

"We'd be amazing," he breathed.

Isaac felt her resolve splinter, snap, shatter beneath his hands as she dragged his mouth onto hers with bruising force.

It was ferocious, a clash of lips and tongues and even teeth, and the rush of the blood in their veins and the quickening thump of their pulse and rasp of their breath filled his ears until he could hear nothing else. He reached with one hand to catch her wrists and pin them above her head. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along her jaw and down her neck, scraping his teeth over her pulse.

"What are you—" whatever she was going to say was cut off as his other hand slid below the waist of her shorts. "Oh."

He ghosted his fingers along the hem of her surprisingly lacy panties and her breath hitched in her throat. "_Oh._"

"Shut up," he mouthed softly against her skin, dipping his fingers lower and lower. "Or I'll have to stop."

The order rankled with her; he could tell because her nails started to break the skin of his neck and shoulder. But she stayed silent, taking deep shuddering breaths instead as his long, clever fingers set to work in earnest.

A coil of heat curled in his stomach, but he pressed it down, iced it in his mind. This was _not_ about him.

Allison was panting now, almost whining with every breath, and she pulled him in for another desperate kiss to hide the low moan building in her throat.

They broke apart a moment later, breathing heavily. Allison leaned her head against his forehead. Her fingers had finally released their vice grip on his skin, but her eyes were still sensually dark. They stood in silence.

"Well," Isaac said eventually. "Seems my fingers at least are good for something."

He ducked the swipe at his head with a laugh.

* * *

Stiles kicked at a pile of leaves sulkily, letting out an excessive snort of air as he kicked a stone accidently. He hated orienteering. Like, how was it even part of the curriculum? Everyone in Beacon Hills already knew how to use a freakin' map, thank you very much. Even field hockey was better than this, and Stiles spent most of those lessons in the nurses' office holding ice packs to various parts of his body.

To add insult to injury, Scott wasn't even in his gym class. Some bullshit about alternate time tables meant he couldn't even bitch to his best friend about the lameness of tramping around the woods during school hours – he had to make do with Hilary Johnson, who despite having a fairly impressive rack was a complete bitch and evil straight down to her core. She was actually responsible for most of his hockey injuries last year, now he came to think about it.

Stiles' internal rambling was interrupted by yelling. "Three? How on earth did you only manage three posts? Were you holding the map the wrong way up or something?"

The lanky boy looked up with interest, and was surprised to see the pair in question.

Isaac (who could probably just smell where the damn things were and when the hell did he get so fashionable anyway?) shrugged. "We got lost."

Allison (who was a hunter, ditto) looked suitably chastened. "Sorry, Coach."

Stiles tuned out of the rest of Finstock's tirade. Something was off, here. Neither teen, despite putting on an air of contriteness (well, Allison was at least), looked particularly affected by the inventive insults streaming out of their teacher's mouth. There was more of a curl to Isaac's lips than normal. Allison was practically glowing. And despite what appeared to be an attempt to neaten themselves up, they both looked a little more dishevelled than orienteering really called for.

Realisation struck like a ton of bricks, and Stiles nearly choked on his tongue.

Well _shit._


	3. Circuits in the Sea

On second thoughts, staying with Scott was not such a good idea.

It had seemed perfect when he was wandering around in the rain and the cold, because Scott was the only guy who was pretty much guaranteed to take him in. Boyd's family could hardly fit in their home as it was, and his house was full of memories, and Erica's parents were—Erica was _dead_. Erica was dead. He didn't like Stiles, he didn't know Lydia, and that was pretty much the sum of his social circle. So he went to Scott's.

Which, now he was warm and dry and surrounded by photos of the girl who let him give her a handjob in the woods and stripped him off in a closet, was a really stupid idea. Like, monumentally dense.

His evening went pretty much like this;

"So, you been up to much?"

_I made out with your ex-girlfriend in a closet the other day. _"Uh, not really. You know, apart from chem homework and dealing with the homicidal Alphas running around." _ Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I fingered her in Phys Ed. _"You?"

"Oh yeah, uh, same I guess. Actually, have you done Mr. Harris' assignment yet?"

And so Isaac spent his first night at Scott's helping him with his chemistry homework and fantasizing about his ex-girlfriend.

After that wonderful experience, Isaac was going to ensure it was his last (even if Mrs. McCall made a killer lasagne in suitably excessive proportions).

Which left him with the problem of where he was going to stay, again, except now bleeding-heart-McCall was well and truly disqualified from his non-existent list of options.

The buzz of a text broke him out of his little pity party.

**From: Allison**

_Do you have a minute?  
_

**From: Isaac**

_Yes. Possibly even two and a half.  
_

**From: Allison**

_Meet me at the junction by 63, wise ass.  
_

Well, it wasn't like he had anyone better to do.

* * *

When Isaac sloped up to the right mile marker, Allison was perched on a grass verge next to her shiny black SUV. A thin curl of smoke snaked out of the open hood.

Allison stood up. "You came."

Isaac gave her a wry smile. "No, that was you."

"Shut up," she said, hating how her cheeks flushed. "Just, shut up."

"So what did you do to your car?" he asked, letting the subject drop in favour of taking a look at the exposed engine.

Allison crossed her arms. "Who says it was something I did?" she challenged.

Isaac snorted lightly. "Allison, this is last year's Audi SUV, and judging by the fittings it's not the bottom of the range either. There's no way it kicked the bucket all on its own."

"Wait, you actually know about cars? I didn't… I just wanted someone with me when I called the repair guy, in case it was a creep or something."

"Well, it looks like it's your lucky day," Isaac threw a grin over his shoulder as he shucked off his jacket and scarf. "You got a toolbox in there by any chance?"

"Actually, now that you mention it…" Allison popped the trunk and emerged with a fairly sizable box. "My dad always makes sure I've got this in the car, even though I've never really figured out how to use any of it."

"I suppose learning about maiming and killing took priority," Isaac said lightly, rummaging through the contents.

"I guess you could say that."

"I am saying that," Isaac continued, grinning. "Are you saying that?"

"Yeah, asshole," Allison said, exasperated but smiling despite herself. "I am saying that."

Isaac turned back to the car, practically elbow deep in machinery. "It looks like you've blown your spark plugs, and you could do with some water and an oil change," he said eventually, looking back up.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Does that mean you can fix it, or does that mean I'm gonna have a ridiculously expensive shop fee?"

"Again, it is your lucky day. It's all pretty minor. Can you pass me those round things?"

Allison crossed her arms again, mischievous this time. "Depends. What's in it for me?"

"Oh, I don't know, a working car maybe?" Isaac deadpanned.

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter then. The auto guy would be more than happy to take my money."

Isaac straightened, wiping his forehead in the heat. "Then it's the auto guy's lucky day too I guess."

Allison giggled. "You, uh, you have a little—" she gestured at her brow. Confused, Isaac glanced at his hands only to see they were coated in black grease.

Lightning fast, he reached over and drew his thumb in a smudged line across her cheek. "There. Now you have a little…" he repeated her gesture mockingly.

She gasped in mock outrage. "Hey! That's an act of war, I'll have you know!"

"Oh yeah?"

Isaac could have dodged easily, but it was much more fun to let her upend her bottle of water on his head. "You've really done it now," he growled, caging her with one arm as he smeared a black stripe down her neck.

Laughing, Allison squirmed away and buried her own hands in the engine. They emerged black with grease, and she swiped a line across his cheek in retaliation. "Ha! Just what you deserve, you scoundrel."

Isaac stopped. "Scoundrel? Did you actually just call me a—"

Allison tugged him into a fierce kiss, cutting off his teasing pretty effectively. There was a tangled clash of lips and tongue and even teeth, before he pulled away.

"Seriously, though, scoundrel?"

She smacked his chest. "You're just jealous of my expansive vocabulary."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Right. Because someone who uses the word 'scoundrel' clearly has an expansive—"

Allison cut him off again, biting down punishingly on his bottom lip. "God, do you ever shut up?" she breathed against his mouth. He leaned into her for a moment, before he stepped back again.

"As fun as this is," he drawled. "I should probably fix your engine before that car pulls up and enjoys the show."

Allison's brow furrowed. "What c—oh right, super hearing. Got it." She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Go ahead."

Isaac leaned over the engine, spark plugs in hand, when he felt a firm smack land on his ass. He turned, eyebrows raised.

Allison smiled brightly. "Yes?"

He huffed a laugh. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The moment he turned his attention back to the engine, a second slap followed the first. A moment later, a pair of hands slid into his back pockets.

Isaac didn't look up even as they made their way around to explore the front ones. He continued to work on the engine, steadfast even as the hands started to wander lower. "How's the engine looking, Isaac?" Allison murmured in his ear, pressing lightly against his back as she toyed with his belt.

"Like you treat it like shit," he said in a level voice.

Allison nipped at his ear. "I don't think that's very fair."

"No, I don't think the car has done anything to deserve it either."

He felt a shiver run down his spine as she placed her hand deliberately at the front of his jeans. "What are you going to do about it?"

Isaac reached for the toolbox with surprisingly steady hands. "Well, I'm going to start by changing the oil," he said matter-of-factly, forcing himself not to react as she swiped her thumb down firmly.

"You're not going to do anything to the driver? After the way they've treated their poor car?"

He couldn't help the sharp inhale as she applied pressure and hated himself for it. "I don't know. I'm not sure I can be bothered."

"That's a shame," she mouthed against his neck. "I'm sure they'd be very… receptive to any advice you might have."

Isaac tightened the oil cap and slammed the hood down, narrowly missing her fingers. "How interesting," he said in a voice that implied it was anything but.

He twisted in her grasp to face her, and suddenly noticed the dark stains that dipped down her face and neck and across the hem of her shirt. In their frenzy, they had forgotten about the grease on their hands. "You're filthy," he observed, amused.

Allison drew her hands around to his front again. "Then help me get clean," she suggested.

Isaac considered it for a moment, before he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, trapping her hands. "I think I prefer you dirty, actually."

She looked up at him, grinning. "Then let's get dirty."


	4. Making Electricity

Allison wanted to run every single red light and stop sign whilst doing a solid eighty miles an hour on her way home. But that would've been pathetic, and weak, and Isaac would have won, so she drove as conscientiously as possible and didn't break a single traffic law. Isaac remained stoic (and irritatingly so) throughout.

He did deploy a rather judiciously raised eyebrow as they pulled up outside the apartment block where she now lived. "I know I'm not a hunter, and you guys do things a little differently, but I'm not sure being ripped into pieces by your father is actually much of a turn on for me," he deadpanned.

"He's at a conference in Seattle for the weekend," Allison answered, before giving him a bland smile. "But feel free to leave if you're feeling a little anxious."

Isaac's mouth curled into a razor-sharp smile. "And you wouldn't mind it at all if I left?"

Allison forced herself to shrug. "No, I don't suppose I would really."

"Well then," he said, his voice mocking. "Lead the way."

Allison drew herself up and strode inside, not looking back to see if he was following or not. There was a breath of uncertainty, where she didn't know if he had decided to join her or not (because whilst Scott would have followed her with the certainty of a lost puppy, Isaac was an unknown variable and prone to changing his mind) and then she felt him step into the elevator beside her. Tension thrummed between them.

His fingers grazed her wrist, trailing a burning hot line down across her palm and then trickling upwards again. Allison refused to tremble or shiver, to even react.

They didn't speak until they were inside her apartment, and even then Isaac broke off from his teasing lines against her skin in favour of padding around, nosing into every corner curiously. Allison repressed a huff of irritation. It would have only served to amuse him anyway.

"You finished, Fido?" she said as he started opening cupboards. "Or are you going to pee in the corner and roll in some animal shit too?"

Isaac startled briefly, and if she were keeping score Allison would have given herself a point. "Just checking there isn't a homicidal father lurking in your dishwasher," he said, recovering smoothly.

"I thought we already established that he was working. Keep up." Allison said scornfully.

His lip curled into a smile that resembled a snarl. Allison chalked up another point. "Of course, but you'll forgive me for not quite being able to take your word for it." A beat. "After all, you're not exactly renowned for your stability."

Allison felt the sting behind his words every bit as keenly as he meant her too. She wondered, briefly, if Isaac could smell her weakness, and reluctantly hitched up his score.

"Neither are you." she snapped back.

"Not really the point."

"What is? What even is the point?"

Isaac stared at her for a long moment, looking for all the world as if he had turned to stone, his eyes dark and undecipherable.

And then it was like he snapped, and he was walking towards her, and Allison thought she should say something, do something, but he was already there and he was kissing her and she couldn't think anymore.

He drew away for a moment, hunger sparking in his eyes. "This. _This_ is the point."

And then he kissed her again.

It was not the gentle kiss of a couple on a first date, nor was it the kiss of a man driven by simple lust. He kissed her with the desperation of a dying man who believed the magic of eternal life was in that kiss. The ferocity of his grip around her waist and shoulders, the grinding pressure of his lips, had her so off balance she thought she might fall if Isaac let her go.

The pressure eased, and the kiss turned sensual.

A tingling warm shot from the silken touch of his lips and tongue straight to her core. Her body melted into his and she was hyperaware of the hard muscles of his chest against her breasts, the warm grip of his hands, the wet sliding of his mouth on hers.

_Bedroom._ She couldn't make the command pass her lips, the part of her that thought in words rapidly losing ground to the parts that wanted to _touch _and _taste_. She ended up pressed against the kitchen island, the edge digging sharply into her back until Isaac lifted her up so that she was sat on it, her legs falling around his waist.

Isaac's hands were all hard, bruising fingertips as they slid up beneath Allison's shirt to explore her back; her stomach shuddered almost imperceptibly as those same fingers passed lightly over her ribs. Allison's hands tangled desperately in the fabric of Isaac's t-shirt, not wanting to interrupt―anything but _that_―but impatient for a taste of what lay beneath. She needed to learn every inch of skin, trace every long, sinewy line. The thought flickered through a very stupid part of her brain that tearing the shirt open would be a step too far, and with a resigned grunt she pulled the shirt up and over Isaac's head in a single smooth motion. His pale skin was marked with streaks of black grease - she had forgotten about that, but now she relished in dragging thick marks across his chest and arms, stomach and back.

Isaac's response was a husky rumble in his throat, just shy of inhuman, before those exploring fingers dropped down to clutch Allison's hips brutally in retaliation. Caught up in her own discoveries, Allison gave a soft, pained hiss, teeth dragging across the flesh of Isaac's throat. Isaac's forehead rested against her shoulder almost gently, rolling with a soft tilt. Allison read a full, complex question in that gesture, and in answer she reached down to unbutton Isaac's jeans. A beat later, his fingers curled at her zip. Allison had lost count of the score what felt like hours ago.

She surrendered herself to flesh and teeth and Isaac.


	5. All His Suits Are Torn

Allison woke up to the unfamiliar feeling of being wrapped up in someone else's warmth. Circumstances had dictated that Scott had to leave, sometimes before she fell asleep and always before she woke. Now, with legs tangled in hers and another pulse thrumming softly beneath her fingertips, she finally realised exactly what it was she had missed so many times.

She propped herself up on one elbow so she could see the boy laid out next to her. Isaac was soft and still, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest, and she took a moment to savour the ceasefire. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed her hand against his skin, unwittingly following the silver trail of a scar just above his hip. As she looked, she realised his hip bones were covered in faded white scars. She traced them with her fingers, following them as they climbed up his ribs. The lines themselves were jagged, but their placement was methodical, parallel rows of self-harm that traversed his torso like an abandoned train track. The curve of his shoulder, too, was marked by neat slashes that stretched out of sight down his back. Those, she knew, Isaac had not made himself.

It was odd how the bite didn't heal old scars as well as new, she thought as she idly trailed her fingertips along the back of his thighs. The marks there were slightly raised, crossing each other in thick tangles, as if someone had used a belt to open the skin again and again. As she explored, Allison slowly realised that Isaac was mapped by scars, silver-white and oddly beautiful. _Survivor_, said the line of carefully placed circles that could only be cigarette burns that marched along the inside of his biceps. _Strength,_ said the ragged slashes on his neck, behind his ear, where she thought maybe a glass had shattered and left its mark. Allison touched every scar she could see, learning them, committing them to her memory so she had a map of Isaac in her mind.

"If you wanted to grope me, you could have at least waited till I was awake."

Allison glanced up to meet Isaac's amused gaze. "Morning," she murmured in a cracked voice.

Isaac smiled sleepily. "Yeah."

He seemed softer somehow, his harsh edges blurred by sleep and early light. Before Allison could say anything else, Isaac had rolled over and planted his bare soles on the wooden floor. The brunette watched, unspeaking, as his lean frame moved to standing and started picking up clothes from the floor. Now his back was to her, she could see the treskilion burned into the flesh of his back, a mirror-copy of his Alpha's.

"You want some breakfast or something?" Allison asked.

Isaac shook his head. "I'm not really a breakfast person. And I've got to get to work." Allison continued to watch as Isaac shrugged on the last of his clothing; his wonderfully bare chest disappeared beneath a pale blue button down and a grey sweater. The bite had definitely transformed his fashion sense, Allison mused, and all for the better.

She sat up. "Can't spare a few more minutes, no?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. Isaac met her gaze and Allison was irked to see a smirk playing on his lips.

"Not today," he said dismissively. Allison felt a pulse in her temple. Ignored it.

She let out a huff. "Fine." she eventually conceded. She threw the covers off and stood up, stark naked. A flush of satisfaction ran through her as Isaac eyed her hungrily, and she smiled smugly as he paced up to her, his blue eyes flashing. He kissed her like he was starving, like he needed her to breath.

His hand travelled gently, leisurely, down her sternum, and Allison gasped into Isaac's hot mouth as he traced a line of fire along the inside of her thigh. A moment later a rush of cold enveloped her.

Her eyelids opened again, her vision almost dazed, and she definitely couldn't miss the desire in those empyreal blue eyes staring back at her. "I'll text you later, Allison," he said eventually, before disappearing in a flurry of opening windows and footsteps across the rooftop.

Allison sank back down onto the bed. _Isaac and his fucking mixed signals,_ she scoffed to herself, but she was smiling as she skimmed her fingers across her lips.

* * *

"Try this one on too," Lydia commanded, throwing a small red dress onto the heap of garments draped over Allison's arm.

The brunette trotted dutifully after her friend, relieved to be back to a dynamic she understood. For the time being, Beacon Hills seemed to have settled down into a non-apocalyptical state of calm, and so when Lydia had turned up at her door armed with her platinum credit card and endless bits of gossip she had been more than happy to indulge. It was exactly what she needed.

Her mind ticked back to last night before she could stop it, her thoughts freezing with the memory of hot breaths and cool hands and fierce touches. Allison hadn't been able to stop herself thinking about it, not entirely.

"—even listening to me?"

Allison bolted to attention. "Yeah, of—" she withered at the fierce look of disdain Lydia gave her. "No, sorry, I kind of spaced out."

The redhead stared at her. "Okay, what is _up_ with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you dare try and pull that crap on me, it won't work and you know it." Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Who's got your panties in a twist?"

Allison bit her lip. "I don't… it's complicated."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "It always is. C'mon, we need to try these on."

Relieved, Allison reached out with her free arm and squeezed her friend's hand gratefully. _Soon,_ it promised.

Lydia squeezed back, a tad harder than necessary. _You'd better, _she said before pulling her back into a whirlwind of clothes and gossip. The girl was unstoppable, always buying the things Allison wouldn't or couldn't afford and forcing her to take them, but she had impeccable taste and wasn't overly obnoxious about it most of the time.

As she slipped into her last item, the dress Lydia had flung at her before, her phone buzzed. She extracted it from her bag, saw that it was a message from Isaac.

_**Later.**_

Allison stared at it, her brow creasing, before a vague recollection from the morning drifted into her mind. "_I'll text you later, Allison._" She paused, but couldn't quite prevent her lips turning up into a smile. She tucked her phone away again and left the changing room.

"Oh my," Lydia said, wide-eyed as she emerged. "Yes, yes, yes."

The dress was perfect, bright red and skin tight. Long-sleeved, low-cut, and short, it screamed Notice Me, among other things, and Allison couldn't remember ever feeling so seductive or beautiful in her life.

She spun slowly in the mirror, examining it from all angles, a plan forming in the shadowy background of her mind.

"If you don't buy that, Allison, I will," Lydia warned.

"Oh don't worry," Allison murmured, glancing one last time at her reflection. "I'm buying it."

* * *

**Thanks so much for the reviews! I wasn't really intending on making this a full length story, or even something with a plot, but it's kind of grown a mind of its own thanks to everyone's encouragement (so please keep it up!)**

**Thanks again :)**


	6. Make It Unseen

_Pick me up at seven. Wear something nice._

_P.S. Surprise me._

Isaac twisted the note around his fingers, his brow slightly furrowed. Mr. Cameron was bleating about nuclear fission at the front of the class but the teen couldn't really bring himself to care – he was acing Physics anyway, not like it'd affect his grade. AP classes weren't nearly as hard as everyone made them out to be.

Allison, on the other hand, was a hundred times more difficult than anyone gave her credit for. _Surprise me._

So taking her to the Diner Joe was probably out of the question. In fact, anywhere in Beacon Hills was out too, and since when was this even a dating thing? Was that was this was? The weeks since he'd first stayed over had been a sex-saturated blur, but there hadn't been any mention of anything else. Isaac pushed that particular bombshell to the back of his mind and focused on the more immediate problem of winning. If Allison wanted to be surprised, well, Isaac sure as hell wasn't going to disappoint.

He checked his timetable. Econ and French, both of which were breeze, followed after lunch, and there was no lacrosse practice after school. So he had plenty of time to work something out.

Isaac smiled to himself, and tucked the note in his pocket.

* * *

In the weeks since The Orienteering Incident, Stiles had kept an eye on the Isaac/Allison situation. At first, it had seemed like he was over-reacting. The two didn't overlap outside of school much, especially since things on the Alpha front had gone quiet, and even in the AP classes that Stiles happened to share with them (he was in History and Algebra, they were both taking the full program) they didn't interact at all. End of story.

Except it wasn't. Now he was actually watching them, Stiles had started to notice things. When they passed each other in the hallway, Isaac's hand brushed against the back of her wrist as if by accident. In class, Allison stretched out behind her and knocked his arm as he reached for a pen, and a tiny slip of paper fluttered to the desk unnoticed by anyone but Stiles. In Phys Ed, he sometimes caught the tail end of a look between them as brief and supercharged as lightning.

The problem was that Scott was still head-over-heels, bat shit-crazy in love with Allison. Everyone knew it, the same way everyone knew that the sky was blue and grass was green and Megan Fox was a fox. Stiles had thought they'd go on their break, Allison would realize she still loved Scott, and there'd be wedding bells and puppies and all sorts of crap.

And then he saw he slip her foot into Isaac's lap in the library, Lydia and Boyd both oblivious to their study partner's actions, and Stiles realised it was probably never going to happen.

_Unless._

* * *

The thing about Derek was that he was a creature of habit. He went shopping on a certain day. He liked certain things for breakfast. And if anything troublesome occurred in Beacon Hills, his first plan was always to kill it.

More relevant was the fact that on Wednesdays and Fridays he would work a full eight hour shift at the local mechanic shop – again, out of habit, because as the sole remaining beneficiary of the Hale estate he had more money than even Jackson could dream of. Derek also left his car keys tucked in the dish on the kitchen counter when he went to work, which was something Isaac couldn't quite puzzle out but was rather thankful for as he let himself into the apartment and spotted them in their usual place.

He shoved them in his pocket and turned to leave.

"Going for a ride?"

Peter Hale did _not_ work eight hours on Wednesdays and Fridays. Isaac turned to see the older Beta leaning against the doorframe and smirking at him arms slung casually across his chest.

"I'm giving them back."

"You think I care?" Peter scoffed. "In all honesty I wouldn't blame you for keeping them."

Isaac blinked. "You're not going to stop me?"

Peter shrugged. "I like you. You're sassy, and when you're sulking you don't break things. Specifically, my things."

"I don't sulk," Isaac said automatically. "I brood. It's called brooding."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Isaac flashed a toothy smile, before he disappeared out of the apartment and into the street, the sound of the Camaro's engine thrumming into life reaching Peter's ears easily.

_Crazy kid_, he thought to himself, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes as he returned to his room.

* * *

"You need to stop."

Allison startled slightly as Stiles appeared at her locker, almost a little too close for comfort, as she was putting her books away. She frowned. "Stop what?"

He shifted awkwardly. "You and Isaac, whatever you're doing. You need to stop, okay?"

The hunter slammed her locker shut, feeling a small thrill as the boy in front of her flinched. "I don't know what you're talking about, Stiles," she said calmly. "And neither do you."

"I knowsomething is going on between you two."

"If there was, it wouldn't be any of your business anyway."

"Scott—"

"_Scott_," Allison ground out dangerously, stopping him dead before he could say another word. "is his own person, and so am I. Are you finished?"

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but at the look on her face apparently decided against it. "No. Yeah. Whatever. Just…" he let out a wordless noise of frustration before spinning on his heel and beating a hasty retreat.

As far as confrontations went, Allison thought to herself as she got into her car, that had been pretty pathetic.

Still, she kind of hoped Isaac would have the good sense to take her somewhere outside of the Beacon Hills gossip zone. She had a feeling Stiles wouldn't give up so easily next time.

Then again, she thought as she squealed out of the parking lot, that was all part of the fun anyway.


	7. Down the Rabbit Hole

Allison waited for Isaac at the end of the street, tapping the skyscraper heel of her stiletto against the pavement impatiently. She'd suspected Isaac would be late. In fact, she'd arrived there ten minutes after the agreed time herself in order to avoid waiting too long in the chill of the evening dusk, but her bare legs were beginning to shiver five minutes later and Isaac was nowhere to be seen. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. There was always the possibility that he wasn't going to show, to punish her for the demanding tone of her note, to remind her that he wasn't the moon to her earth and he could not be commanded so easily. A way of showing her that he wasn't Scott.

Not that she needed any reminding. Isaac and Scott were as different as night and day, and it was easy to see which was which.

From the distance, she heard the low rumble of an engine. Allison didn't allow herself a moment of relief, not even when the familiar form of Derek's sleek black Camaro purred to a stop in front of her. Isaac rolled down the window, his smile glinting. "Your carriage awaits, milady," he said, not quite mocking but not quite warm either. She didn't know what to make of it – but what else was new?

Allison slid into the passenger seat, catching his eyes lingering on the black trench coat that pulled in at her waist and covered her to the knees. His hand reached out, toying with the hem for a moment, before she slapped it away. "Ah, ah, ah," she scolded, shaking a finger at him. "No peeking."

"Not even a little bit?"

"If you don't start driving, we won't have time for dessert."

"Who says we're going to be eating anything?"

Allison crossed her legs, deliberately allowing another slice of skin to slide into view. "Well with that attitude," she said, tilting her head to the side. "You definitely won't be."

Isaac laughed, the car thrumming to life beneath them. "We'll see."

_Yes,_ she thought to herself, _we will._

* * *

When Isaac brought the engine to a roaring halt in La Guardia, Allison had to concede that he had already succeeded in surprising her. It was the height of sophistication and class, the holiday destination of the vastly wealthy and the famous wishing to seek anonymity with the privileges as befitted their status, a seaside resort set in the heart of miles of million dollar real estate. It wasn't exactly within the price range of a teenage orphan working in an upmarket deli, no matter how expensive the sandwiches were.

Isaac pulled open her door, offering her his arm. "Shall I throw my cloak to the ground in front of you lest you dirty your shoes on common ground?" he said teasingly, his amusement indicating his awareness of her observations.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, snapping her feet to the ground with a little more flair than was perhaps needed. "I'm not sure stepping on your cloak would be much of an improvement from walking on mud, let alone common ground, but I appreciate the sentiment," she drawled, tucking her hand into his elbow and allowing him to ease her onto the pavement.

Isaac looked other-worldly in the dimming glow of dusk, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and his blue eyes electric, so impossibly blue they almost couldn't be real. His suit was midnight-black and beautifully tailored, his silhouette sleek and leonine, and Allison felt a rush of desire so sharp it was almost painful. She ignored it.

There would be time enough for that later.

They chatted idly as they strolled through town, arm in arm, delighting in the sense of being unknown. La Guardia was extravagant, the shop-front windows glimmering with expensive jewellery and rare fabrics, restaurants glittering with elegant couples dressed like aristocrats, the occasional flash of light glancing off the clear water on the harbour front. They passed a 1920's style nightclub, the doorway arched in classic Art Deco, a swirl of richly dressed men and women awaiting entrance. As they passed the queue, Allison realised they all wore masquerade masks, varying in size and complexity, and clutched silver tickets in their hands.

Isaac guided her past them, nearly knocking into a pair of men wearing matching sun and moon masks. They continued along the street for a while longer before he pulled her sideways in a small alleyway she hadn't even noticed.

Allison's curiosity was well and truly piqued now, but she refused to ask Isaac where they were going. What she said instead was, "Not exactly what I expected when I said surprise me, but I suppose it has a certain charm. I hear urban revival is going to be a big thing this year."

"Well, we can stay here if you want," Isaac replied, amusement colouring his voice. "Although I was thinking we could just use these instead." He drew out two silver tickets, a black mask and a white mask from his pocket.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "If you have the tickets, why aren't we waiting in line?"

Isaac's face broke into a breathtaking grin, and for a moment Allison wondered if it had drawn all of the oxygen out of the air. "Where's the fun in using the front door?"

He handed her the black mask, simple and elegant, silk edged with glass beads, before turning to a simple metal door set into the wall. He reached out and snapped the handle, easing it out of his frame gently. A blast of hot air and music rushed out.

Isaac held out his hand. "After you, milady."

Allison stared at it for a moment, before the spell broke and she allowed him to usher her inside. There was a brief sensation of free fall, as if she were Alice and she had thrown herself down the rabbit hole without knowing, or even caring, what was at the bottom.

_Surprise me,_ indeed.


	8. Out of Alignment

Inside was a whole other world.

The two-story vaulted ceiling and the walls were hung with black and gold silk drapes that gave the impression that they were inside a massive circus tent, a circus of couples with long dresses and tuxes, tasteful accents and pedigrees. Chandeliers glittered softly among the fabric, the lighting more atmospheric than practical, leaving much of the walls in soft shadows. The air was full with the roar of jazz, laughter and chatter, the scent of pungent cigar smoke, perfume, and expensive food, all rolled into an incomprehensible wave of sensation. People were dining and drinking, smoking and laughing. Through it all, an army of white-gloved waiters carried trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres under the winking chandeliers.

"Want me to take your coat?" Isaac asked leaning in closer than she really thought was necessary to be heard over the music.

Allison slid it off her shoulders as slowly as possible, savouring the reveal. Isaac's pupils dilated, his eyes almost black in the low light, his expression momentarily unguarded. She could have sworn he stopped breathing for several heartbeats.

"You look beautiful," he said quietly, his mouth close to her neck. His words came out husky and velvety, his breath hot against her skin, and then he drew away with her coat so he could put it away somewhere discreet.

Allison hated him.

She moved further into the room, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray. The masks added a sense of the surreal, of everything being unknown, and as Allison filtered through the crowd she realised even the staff wore plain white masks to match their gloves. An exclusive 1920's themed masquerade ball for the rich and famous – Isaac really had kind of outdone himself. _Not_ that she'd ever tell him that.

He reappeared at her side a moment later, a matching glass in hand. "Are you surprised yet?"

Allison shrugged. "It's not exactly original."

"Ah yes, I suppose this whole thing is a bit clichéd," he agreed.

"It is pretty overdone."

"Rather hackneyed, in fact."

"Almost trite, really."

"Old-hat."

"Unoriginal."

"Routine."

A waiter offered them another tray, shots of something clear and dangerous-looking, interrupting their back-and-forth, and Allison realised her champagne was gone. They both took one.

"Can werewolves even get drunk?" she asked as he threw back his head with the shot, exposing the pale hollow of his throat.

Isaac frowned at the empty glass, his brow furrowing slightly. "You know, I've never actually thought about it."

"Well then," she said, lifting her own drink. "I think it's time to find out."

His fingers slid around hers, so hot she felt her blood boil up underneath her skin. Before she could protest, he held the glass to her lips. Allison tilted her head, swallowed the burn, saw Isaac's eyes darken.

The earth beneath her feet shifted, and Allison was suddenly unable to find solid ground to stand upon as the world trembled and shook. She took a deep breath. This was supposed to be the night where she took what she wanted, took everything and gave nothing in return. The night she _won._

Allison grabbed Isaac's hand and pulled him through the crowd.

"We should dance," she called over her shoulder.

Suddenly, Isaac leaned close and in one delicious moment, his body was leaning fully along Allison's. Isaac's mouth found Allison's ear. "You'll embarrass yourself," he murmured.

Allison smiled against his cheek and breathed, "Try to keep up, dear."

She swept him towards the thickest knot of people, the bass reverberating through her chest like an extra heartbeat. When they had buried their way into the crowd, she turned to face him, a flex of muscles gliding down her body like a flick through a rope. Isaac's pupils were massive, his grin dirty. Between the light buzz from the alcohol, the familiarity of Isaac's hard body crushed against hers and the pulsing beat, Allison could hardly keep track of which way was up and which was down.

She slipped a bold hand down the front of his pants, dancing on, tossing her hair and shaking her hips as if nothing untoward was happening at all. Isaac's body stuttered. With a wide-eyed look, he pressed in closer, his hands slipping along her dress as his breathing grew ragged.

Allison waited until he was almost there before reclaiming her audacious limb once more. "I want another drink."

Isaac's impossibly dark gaze burned into hers, his face inscrutable. And then he smiled. "Of course."

As he melted away into the crowd, Allison released the breath trapped frantically against her ribcage. She held up her hands, her steady, steady hands, only to find they were shaking.

Her thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of, so she ignored her traitorous hands and rolled in time with the music. And if she watched Isaac make his way all the way to the bar, well, no one but her was ever going to know.

* * *

He hated her. He hated her so much.

Isaac gritted his teeth as another person bumped into his back, unknowingly knocking his aching hard-on up against the bar. He glanced back over into the crowd. Even in the semi-darkness, the mad press of dancers and heaving bodies, she stood out like a crimson-stained spotlight. He could almost hear the slice of her breath through the tangle of noise.

"You're a very lucky man. I hope you know that."

Isaac turned to face the voice. On the barstool beside him was a woman in an elegant silver ball gown, ageless behind a tastefully feathered mask. Her blood red mouth was curved into a smile. Isaac didn't return it.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

She tilted her head back towards the dance floor, and Isaac caught another gleam of crimson out of the corner of his eye. "Not a lot of girlfriends look at their boys the way she looks at you."

Isaac flashed her a wry smile. "I'm not her boy. And she's not my girlfriend."

"Maybe not. But you mean something to that girl regardless."

"No offence, ma'am," Isaac forced himself to remain polite and reserved. "But I really don't think you know what you're talking about." Unbidden, before he could stop himself, the words at the back of his mind spilled out. "She loves somebody else."

The woman's smile widened. "I wouldn't be so sure."

The drinks Isaac ordered slid across the bar. He flashed a flat, polite smile to the woman beside him. "Enjoy your evening," he said evenly, before slipping back into the crowd as quickly as he could.

Isaac pushed through the heaving mass of people, searching for Allison's red in amongst the hot pinks and golds, electric blues and greens. The cloying heat settled over him like a second skin.

He got no more warning than hot breath on the back of his neck, the sense of the temperature around him changing, but he managed to turn before Allison could sneak up on him. He grinned. "Looking for someone?"

Allison tossed her hair out of her eyes, causing his smile to widen. "Did you get me a drink?"

He handed her the glass. "Enjoy, darling."

They moved to a quieter corner of the room, where they could speak without having to shout. Isaac couldn't help but watch her with new eyes, searching for signs of his meaning, the looks that the other woman seemed to have noticed. All he could see was wide blue eyes, bright behind the mask, and triumphant lips. In the crush of smells and sounds, he could barely even catch his own scent, let alone hers, and everyone's hearts were beating in time with the bass, a syncopated rhythm that skipped inside his own chest. He felt uneven. Time blurred out of distinction.

"I want to get out of here, Isaac," Allison murmured into his ear. When had she gotten so close?

He dipped his head. "Where do you want to go?"

She smiled. "I don't know. Surprise me."

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Isaac threw an unimpressed look over his shoulder, knowing it would aggravate his companion even more. "I thought you wanted it to be a surprise."

Outside, he could hear the distinct jump of her pulse. "I'm starting to wonder if the surprise is that there is no surprise," she said in an impressively even voice.

"Well you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

He felt steadier out here. Whatever advantage Allison had gained in the smoke and heat of the club was being clawed back in his favour, inch by quarter inch. The sky was pitch black, lit only by a pale sickle moon, the streetlights turned off. Isaac saw everything rendered in perfect clarity, not so much illuminated as simply clear. Beside him, Allison steps echoed his. He wondered how much she could actually see, if the street was nothing but shadows to her human eyes, what the road would look like if he had never met Derek, never been changed.

He liked the view he had now, so he didn't dwell on it.

Suddenly, Allison grabbed his elbow. "This way," she ordered, dragging him down a little side street.

"I thought I was meant to be surprising you?" he asked, amused.

"This way's better."

Isaac tucked his elbow up so she was on his arm rather than dragging him along. "Of course, darling, whatever you say," he replied, one part mocking, one part dismissive and one part challenge.

Her grip tightened painfully.

They carried on, the air turning thick with salt, and Isaac realised she was taking him down towards the beach. He was fairly certain it wouldn't be their final destination. Allison didn't really strike him as the kind of girl who appreciated getting sand in her knickers, and he was far too meticulous for that kind of thing to appeal to him either.

The dark glitter of the ocean came into view, but Allison didn't lead him towards it. Instead she pulled him down another dark road. He glanced at the sign at its entrance. _**Sea Breeze Luxury Holiday Cottages – Multiple Vacancies.**_ Isaac suppressed an eye roll. The reception building, tucked just around the first bend, was dark. Allison pulled him onwards. He allowed himself to indulge in his previously suppressed eye roll only when she stopped outside an ornately curled iron gate and shifted one leg slightly, an expectant look in her eyes.

"You know," Isaac said, as he laced his fingers together and lowered them, "there are plenty of establishments in this town where we could stay. In fact, some of them might even let us check in legally." Like the ridiculously expensive room he'd booked in the hotel across town.

Allison threw a devilish grin over her shoulder as she stepped onto his hand, still wearing her heels. "But where's the fun in that?"

"Where indeed," he murmured, lifting her up above his head easily.

She grasped the top of the gate and climbed over the spikes at the top gracefully, lowering herself to the ground on the other side. "C'mon Isaac, keep up."

Isaac bent his knees slightly, then launched himself over with an elegant twist, not touching the metal at all, and landed with barely a sound. He held out his hand, and took his own turn leading as he set off down the drive. The building in front of them was beautiful, white washed and terracotta-roofed, with an ivy-wreathed balcony wrapping all of the way around. It probably cost thousands if not tens of thousands a night. If they got caught…

"Allison, are you sure this is such a good idea?"

"Aw, Isaac, are you scared?" Allison mocked as she reached into her clutch and snapped out a lockpick. _Typical._

He didn't react. "No. But I've spent a night in a police cell, and it's not exactly an experience I wish to repeat."

Allison shrugged. "Then don't get caught."

The click of the lock seemed too sharp, but the door slid open quietly. Allison disappeared into the building, a crimson-stained shadow in the dark, shoulders straight and proud.

Isaac took a deep breath and followed.

* * *

**I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, and to o-seastarved for agreeing to be my beta and helping me work through the massive writers block that made this update so long in coming.**

**Please don't stop getting back to me, there's nothing more encouraging than positive feedback!**


	9. Invictus

Allison stood in the middle of the expensively minimal lounge, staring out of the floor to ceiling window that wrapped around two sides of the room and looked out over the smooth white expanse of beach at the back of the property. Her knees were like water.

She felt a presence behind her. Isaac's breath warmed the back of her neck; goosebumps erupted along her shoulders and arms. Isaac placed a possessive hand on Allison's left hip, the fingers splayed low on her hip bone. Allison's head fell back against his shoulder.

Heat coiled low in her belly, and she pressed back against him as Isaac used the grip on her hip to pull her even closer. Allison was a little startled by the half-hardness against her ass, and pushed back experimentally; Isaac leaned forward and bit her earlobe gently, hesitantly. She let out a shaky breath, high-pitched with lust, and ground her hips down with intent this time.

With a groan, Isaac shoved her forward, and they collided with the glass. The feeling of being trapped, of being dominated, the overwhelming heat of his body against hers, sent her mind spinning in tangents unable to focus clearly on anything but where his body touched hers. She gasped as his lips mouthed against her neck and he rolled his hips against hers. She was boneless with want and exhaustion. Isaac bit her pulse point none too gently as his hands wandered lower, lower. One traced along her navel, circled her stomach before dipping to the hem of her dress. His fingers grazed the silk of her panties. A moment later, he was pressing them against her, teasing the damp spot forming in the fabric. Allison exclaimed wordlessly, face pressed to one side. The thought that any late night stroller could look up from the beach and see them sprawled against the glass sent a thrill of electricity down her spine.

Allison had been relatively pliant up until now, but she was starting to feel the scales slide out of her favour. She wrenched her body round, met his lips furiously, biting and sucking at his bottom lip and tasting the bitter tang of blood.

"Get this off," she demanded once they'd surfaced, fisting Isaac's shirt and jacket lapel. "Get this off right now."

He took his time shedding his jacket, and Allison grew impatient. She wasn't quite sure but she thought she saw a shirt button or two tumble to the floor, discarded in her haste, but she left the tie so she could pull him through to a bedroom.

Allison pushed him firmly back, and she felt the give as he allowed himself to fall onto the plush double bed. He pulled himself fully onto it and lay there, watching. _Waiting_. Allison took off his shoes and socks, tossing them over her shoulder carelessly. She unzipped his trousers next, ghosting her breath over his tented boxers before pulling both garments off and letting them join his shoes on the floor. He lay there, completely naked, and didn't say a word. Somehow, he'd understood the game without her having to explain the rules.

In a single fluid movement, she pulled her dress up and discarded it, enjoying the way Isaac's jaw tightened as he swallowed. Slowly, almost painfully so, she peeled her black silk panties away. Isaac shifted, gearing himself to move towards her, but she held up a single warning finger and he relented, his eyes almost black as her bra fell next.

They had been sleeping together for nearly two months, and they had never been completely bare to each other, not like this. Allison liked the way he looked at her. As if he'd never seen anything more amazing in his life.

Finally, she approached the bed. Isaac's muscles coiled, tensing underneath her thighs as she straddled his hips. Allison unknotted his tie and held the fabric between her teeth, leaving her hands free to grip his wrists and pull them above his head. She knotted them together and then fastened them to one of the slats of the headboard, the illusion of his vulnerability making her head spin.

She trailed her hands down his ribs, lightly, savouring the shudder beneath her fingertips. Allison eased her hips over his, rolling them almost teasingly along his length, and she could hear a growl building deep inside his throat – could feel it vibrating along his sides. She kept it up for as long as she could, until her insides were white-hot with want, before grinding her hips down and letting him fill every inch of her. Her hands came down onto his chest as she rode him slowly, just this side of too slow, and she sucked in a breath that sliced through her lungs like wildfire.

He started to move underneath her, thrusting up to meet her pace. Without thinking, her hands moved to his throat and _squeezed _a warning, her knuckles a solid warmth against his windpipe. Isaac's heels skidded against the sheets and then he stilled. A moment later, Allison let him go, heard the desperate breath he took, and the rush made her see nothing but black, black, _black_.

Allison couldn't see his eyes properly, the silver-grey wash of moonlight making his face seem angular and strange, but the fact that his hands remained tied to the headboard was more telling than anything and when she pressed down on his throat again it was harder that time, tighter, and she thrust faster and faster until her head spun so fast she could hardly even see. His lips tipped open, soundless, airless. And then he bucked, unable to stop himself, and it made Allison's breath catch, made her dig her nails into his skin.

The breath he took in after was frantic. Allison watched him drag air into his lungs for a moment before leaning down and kissing him, thumbing softly over the marks already fading from his throat.

_So this was what winning felt like._

* * *

Isaac couldn't understand what had just happened.

Allison was sleeping now, splayed across his chest, her hair shifting with every breath. She was deceptively delicate in sleep, the arch of her cheekbone fragile and her bones brittle. She almost didn't feel real.

When her hands had tightened around his throat, she had felt real.

Isaac knew, if it had come to it, he could have stopped it. Broken his wrists free, pulled free of her grasp. He was so much stronger than her now. But he had trusted her to stop before that happened, had let her hold on until his vision went cloudy and his head thumped in time with his pulse. That moment of freefall, where he had relinquished all control… he had never felt anything so intense in his life.

Isaac didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. He just watched the sky outside the window lighten, her pulse loud and low in his ears, and realised slowly that it was no longer just a case of who won and who lost. There was more than just winning at stake now and maybe there always had been.

Allison shifted slightly, her lips mouthing happily against his skin as she started to wake, knocking him from his thoughts.

She didn't have to know that, though. Not yet.

* * *

**I'm so sorry this took so long, I'm back at sixth form and absolutely drowning in A2 coarse material. I will do my best to keep updating but you might have to be a little patient with me, sorry!**


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